Deltiologist
by hurrian-hymn
Summary: She's a collector of picture postcards and a student of History and Political Studies. A trip to the historical university of Hogwarts is an enlightening but otherwise predictable experience. That is until she starts receiving postcards from an anonymous sender. They are harmless at first, but progressively feature more personal and chilling details about her life.
1. Beginnings

I told myself I won't start another fic until my previous one is complete but alas that never happens.

This one takes a very different approach to 'Bad Impressions', so it's definitely not light-hearted. It's a bit slow in the early chapters but will pick up later. I hope you enjoy!

* * *

**Deltiology**

_noun_

1\. The collection and study of postcards.

-:-:-

Hermione began collecting postcards whenever she travelled as an inexpensive way to buy souvenirs. Another advantage of postcards is that they don't take up much space, and can slide inconspicuously into the inner compartment of her suitcase or her passport wallet.

Since arriving to Hogwarts, she had browsed the local shops in the nearby town of Hogsmeade for some postcards unique to the site. She would add them to her collection at home, and analyse the cards in her free time.

Her time at Hogwarts so far had been a worthwhile experience. In just two weeks, she had learnt quite a lot about the university's history, its unique reputation as an educational institute, and the niche subjects it used to cater to. Some of these subjects included the exclusive study of alchemy, the study of folkloric plants and herbs, and a pseudo-scientific subject about transforming objects. There was even a sports game called 'Quidditch' which was played with make-shift broomsticks at the end of semesters. However, the university had to close down about half a century ago after new universities had sprung up nearby, which catered more closely to the modern curriculum. Hogwarts now functioned as a museum and an educational site for seminars and exhibitions.

Back in the castle, she attended a lecture about the antiquity of the library books. In a half-circle around the table with the other students, she skimmed through old textbooks and passed them over to her peers. Their lecturer—an elderly Scottish lady with a stern expression and a tight bun at her nape, explained the significance of the tomes to the castle's history.

She had even gone far as to say that the books held magic within them, and those who chose to read them would surely be affected by it. Hermione had found the notion amusing, and if anything, it spurred her to read the books at every given chance when not busy with other events. She had even 'claimed' her own nook in the library at the desk behind one of the grand bookshelves, where she would set up her laptop and study folders.

* * *

It had been two weeks of attending lectures, seminars, and welcoming parties, but finally, after yet another long day, Hermione was back in her own room. She sits upon her bed and texts her parents and her best friends Harry and Ron of the day's events. This was her last day, and tomorrow she would be home.

Hermione gets up and heads over to the adjoined bathroom. Taking her ring off by the side of the sink, she washes off the dirt and grime encrusted in the whorls of her thumbs and fingers, giving extra care to scrub under her fingernails. Grey dirt mixed with the lukewarm water and slid down the basin. Turning off the tap, she dries her hands on the towel and heads back into her room to pack her suitcase.

Despite the castle's imposing image as an almost ancient site with numerous empty hallways, rooms, and sections closed off as 'forbidden', she had never once felt out of place during her stay. It was as though the castle had beckoned to her, and made efforts to accommodate her in every way. She will miss her time here, but will at least take home the enjoyable memories with her.


	2. Her First Postcard

Her First Postcard

Castle

* * *

She receives her first postcard on a drizzly Tuesday morning.

Clad in her wool-lined robe, Hermione shuts the mailbox down and quickly makes her way back into the house, lest the muddy water soaked into her robe and slippers.

Mug of coffee in hand, she pulls out the rickety wooden chair with a screech and takes a seat.

She removes the envelope from her pocket and places it in front of her. It's plain white and generic in appearance. Addressed on the tab is her name in neat, calligraphic handwriting:

_To Hermione Jean Granger_

She tears open the envelope and pulls out the letter—or, in this case, a postcard.

The first thing she notices is that the postcard is sent in an envelope. Usually, they are sent without one unless the envelope was carrying something else, too.

She examines the postcard. It's a picturesque view of the castle of Hogwarts, surrounded by the forest in the distance. She owns the exact postcard she bought from one of the shops in Hogsmeade.

She turns the postcard over and reads the message:

_Dearest Hermione,_

_I hope that you have returned home safely._

_\- L.V_

_L.V?_ Who was that? She can't recall meeting anyone with those initials. And the only person she knows whose name starts with the letter 'L' is Luna, a fellow student in her course. But she hadn't attended the trip, and moreover, her last name doesn't begin with 'V'. It was probably from one of the lecturers at the castle, she ponders.

Hermione sets the postcard aside and eats her scrambled eggs and toast. She doesn't give it much thought again.


	3. Her Second Postcard

Her Second Postcard

Black Lake

* * *

A week later when she receives her second postcard she didn't check the mail that day.

She had forgotten to do so, and only remembered the following day after a torrential downpour had drenched the town, including her mailbox. Its lid had been partially flapped open by the wind, and the contents inside were now stained with water.

With care, she removes the envelopes and carries them back inside on her palms, cursing under her breath for her stupidity. What if there was an important letter about her superannuation plans or an electricity bill?

She lets the envelopes dry by the fire for some time, then separates them. Two of the envelopes were bills just as she had thought (she curses again), and the last one was blank save for an address bar.

It had her name in the same cursive writing as the letter she received last week. With a letter knife this time, she tears open the envelope.

Inside was another postcard. It featured a sunset view of the Black Lake at Hogwarts. She bought a postcard like this one from the shop, too. She had heard of a legend during her stay at the castle, about a giant squid that resided in the lake. The theory had never been proven, however it had not been debunked, either. It made little sense when she thought about it anyway.

She turns over the postcard.

_Dearest Hermione,_

_It would be an honour for you to visit Hogwarts again one day._

_— L.V_

Again from L.V? Now she was curious to the identity of the sender. And the 'dearest' bit was starting to sound kind of clingy.

She makes a mental note to contact the castle about the potential identity of the sender, but for now, she continues to work on her upcoming assignment about the historical policies of Gringotts Bank.

* * *

Dear readers, how is the story going so far? Please let me know your thoughts and comments. There's not much yet I know but the story will pick up more soon.


	4. Her Third Postcard

Her Third Postcard

Village

* * *

Hermione had called up the administration staff at Hogwarts, but they had yielded no answers about the identity of the sender. They were just as puzzled as her, and did not recall anyone mailing out postcards. They had checked all correspondences sent out of the castle, and assured her there were none being addressed to her house by an "L.V".

Her week went by in her usual routine of attending classes at university, working at her part-time job at the local book store, and catching up with Harry, Ron and Ginny. In her free time, she thinks of other ways to trace back the postcards. Studying them, after all, is her speciality.

She warms herself by the heater on the floor, and clicking open a soft-leathered suitcase, spreads out her entire collection of postcards. They are then sorted into categories based on their location and date of purchase. Paris, Madrid, Istanbul and beyond, a postcard or two from each site she has travelled in her life so far.

From the village of Hogsmeade however, she had bought only a couple of cards, from exactly two shops. Perhaps she will contact the shop owners to inquire into who had been buying their postcards recently.

Crookshanks meows and rolls down next to her, and Hermione pets her between the ears, cooing to the the flame coloured cat to ask if he had eaten his food.

Her phone beeps on the counter, and she gets up to check the notification.

There's a text from Ron. She smiles to herself. For a while now she's had feelings for him, she admitted them to herself the moment he started going out with Lavender. But they were over now, and finally, she felt confident enough to approach him.

* * *

She's still surprised when she receives her third postcard. After all, there can't be anything more left to say.

When she tears apart the envelope this time, however, there is another attachment inside besides the postcard.

Her heart drops.

It's a Polaroid of the desk she sat at in the library at Hogwarts. Her little 'nook', as the librarian had referred to it.

Fingers trembling, she sets the photograph down on the dining table, and examines the postcard. It features a winter scene of Hogsmeade, covered in snow and warmed by golden light from the shops. She turns the card over to read the message.

_Dearest Hermione,_

_I, myself, have always held a fascination for books. They have been my retreat, my solace from the banal existence of this world. And I know you also understand the appreciation of novels and academic journals alike. Really, anything with words is always something worth reading, to seek knowledge for its own purpose, and to even use it in one way or another is a valuable pursuit. It's one of the many ways we are so similar, Hermione. In time, you will know just how much._

_P.S — In order to prevent my postcards being damaged by rainwater, I will now send them in waterproof wrappings inside the envelopes._

_— L.V_

The hairs prickle at the back of her neck and her throat goes dry.

So, she officially has a stalker. Who knew not just about her time at Hogwarts, but was close by to follow her movements. Right at this moment, even.

She tries to stay calm, and collected, she tries not to lose her mind so soon, because panicking will not help and in fact, perhaps make the situation worse.

Now was the time to contact someone for help, but who? Definitely not her parents, they were already too protective of her. Harry would also worry too much at once, and anyway, his father was a police officer who'd be notified of this ordeal, which she didn't want at the moment. Not Ron, either, he would flip out, and she couldn't bear to see him distressed about her.

Ginny was the safest bet.

She taps away at her phone, and then awaits Ginny's phone call.

-:-

"You're sure there's no one he or she could be?"

"No, I've scrounged all my links, and every person I came into contact with at the castle."

"Any weirdo who tried talking to you and wouldn't leave your side?"

"None at all. Everyone seemed so normal, Ginny."

"It's often the 'normal' who are hiding in plain sight. But also…What if it's not a person at all? I mean, it could be a ghost, or a spirit—"

"_Ginny._"

"Fine, sorry, I know you don't believe in the paranormal, but still, it might be the most plausible explanation when you can't think of anyone."

"I know, thanks for helping me, though."

They say their goodbyes, then Hermione hangs up.

She doesn't believe in that sort of stuff, full stop. Staying at an old castle for a short while gave no excuse to throw all logic and rational thoughts out the window. In the end, there is always a reasonable explanation.

Sighing to herself, she seeps a teabag into a cup of hot water, and reads through the postcard again. She had made no friends at Hogwarts, and was barely acquainted with anyone, students and professors alike. She thinks also about the people she meets at her university, which was a quiet affair on its own where she didn't interact with many, and left as soon as lectures ended.

Who had studied her movements with such closeness? Who had ventured so far as to state that they were just like her?

_In time, you will know just how much._

The words spin in her mind as she ponders the meaning, and the downright intent.

Hermione later realises she doesn't own any postcard featuring Hogsmeade.

* * *

Things are getting serious now :o

I love reading your feedback on my stories, so please let me know how you're finding this story so far and what you like!


	5. Her Fourth Postcard

Her Fourth Postcard

Forbidden Forest

"And that concludes today's lecture on the ministry of Cornelius Fudge. Before you all leave, I would like to remind you that the quiz for this week's reading is now posted online. Make sure it's completed by Friday, unless you want to risk losing marks for this course."

As their professor concludes the lecture, Hermione shuts her laptop and unplugs the charger beneath her seat. Stowing both items away in her bag, she prepares to leave the auditorium. While leaving, she notices Luna making her way up the stairs from the lower aisles.

Although they don't interact much (as Hermione generally steers clear of individuals who believe in 'crystal healing' and other New Age practices), and really, she cannot cope listening to theories on the cryptids supposedly residing in Surrey, she knew that, despite her reservations, Luna may just have the perspective she needs. She had to speak with her.

* * *

"Um, thanks," says Hermione, feeling self-conscious now. She hoped this wasn't a mistake, and that she didn't come across as some wayward maniac as they sat across each other in the university's cafe. Luna was watching her expectantly.

Hermione palms her cup of coffee on the table. "It's just…Look, I don't believe in the things I'm about to discuss, but at the same time I…don't feel comfortable talking about this with others."

"That's okay, Hermione. I appreciate that you have chosen me to talk about whatever it is," Luna replies, untangling a radish-shaped earring from her wavy blonde hair.

Hermione nods, and continues. "I want to ask, do you believe that old or ancient places hold something? I mean like, do other…'beings' live there, for a lack of a better word?" She chews her bottom lip, awaiting her reply.

Luna gives a thoughtful, earnest expression. "Spirits reside in such places, and I believe that, certainly. But most of all I also believe that there's much in this world that cannot be explained."

Hermione observes the grounds outside the cafe through the window. It was beginning to rain. "Do such 'spirits', as you say, have the potential to harm us?"

A curious expression crosses Luna's face. "If they are annoyed or angered, yes, or if they form any sort of attachment to humans."

Hermione does not reply, and fiddles with a napkin, tearing it in strips from the corner.

"And how would you even know if it's a spirit that's after you? How can you prove such things, Luna? What if it's entirely something else?"

This time, Luna gives no response, and instead she reaches across the table and places her hands on Hermione's, her gaze sympathetic.

"What is it that's bothering you, Hermione? Spirits don't directly cause harm unless provoked. But if it's a particularly malevolent spirit, then they can bother or hurt humans. Where did you come across this spirit, or spirits?"

She was not about to divulge about Hogwarts University. She did not feel easy revealing that information just yet. Because despite everything, she did not think that it was related to Hogwarts, at all.

Hermione shakes her head, and gives a short laugh to diffuse her anxiety. "No where, really, just some abandoned house I decided to enter, so stupid of me."

Luna doesn't smile, and Hermione had the distinct feeling that she saw right through her lie. She ignores the unsettling sensation.

"Thank you for your concern, Luna," Hermione says, picking her bag off the floor and standing up. "But just to clarify, I'm still not convinced about the ideas of 'spirits', and I don't believe that there's anything that cannot be solved with enough investigation."

"You don't have to believe in it for it to be real. It's fair for you to hold to your beliefs, though."

That was true. And as much as she said that she doesn't believe in the supernatural, the ideas had taken root in her mind, just slightly. Considering it an open possibility, but not the exact justification.

With another quick thanks and a good-bye, Hermione leaves the cafe.

* * *

Later that day, Hermione works her shift at the book store, Flourish and Blotts.

She scans an elderly lady's book on recipes, her thoughts pensive as she hears a beep followed by the red flash of the barcode scanner.

The shop was quiet, and so she does not have much to distract herself with. Without thought, her eyes flicker to the calendar on the wall. A few more days before the post arrives.

She forces herself to look away.

It did not bode well for her to obsessively focus on mundane things.

* * *

The curtains stay drawn over her windows at all times now. Crookshanks isn't allowed to go outside, either.

It was courteous of Ginny to offer staying at her place. But she had to decline it for the time being, as it would arouse suspicion among everyone. A couple of days of sleepover were normal, but weeks worth of 'staying over' signified greater problems.

Hermione was half-convinced to throw away the next postcard into the rubbish bin when it finally arrives into her mailbox. She gives the envelope a once-over, and stands at the kitchen bin. If she doesn't see or read any more of the content, it won't affect her as much, or at all, right?

And yet, she could not bring herself to do so as she enters the lounge room. It felt impossible, the weight of the card in her hands felt heavy. Her fingers were numb despite the warmth from the heater.

She almost rips apart the envelope. It was always so bloody inconspicuously white.

The torn pieces of paper fall to the floor, and she holds in her hands the postcard, and—another Polaroid.

It depicts a ring on a black, velvet cloth. A gold band embedded with a small flower in the middle, surrounded by minuscule cubic zirconia. Two stones were missing from it.

It was _her_ ring.

She remembers now, and she had not remembered earlier, in fact she had forgotten about her ring entirely. But now, she knows, and that she had taken it off and left it at the sink when washing her hands after handling the old texts in the castle.

Hermione could not keep standing for any longer, and slowly, she lowers onto the armchair.

She was shaking. Her parched mouth was pleading for water, but she had no appetite to do so.

The postcard featured the Forbidden Forest near Hogwarts. It was so-called 'forbidden' because the students were not allowed to enter it back when the university was running. Just like the Hogsmeade postcard, she owned no copy of it.

She turns the card over, and reads.

_Dearest Hermione,_

_I know it must pain you to know that you left an object of value at the castle. But every action has a purpose, and the purpose of this beautiful ring being left by the sink was for it to be safeguarded by me. Do not worry, Hermione, I will have the two stones replaced with the highest quality of cubic zirconia. It will be whole once again, and I will never allow it to be lost ever again. I will keep it safe by my side and I will remember you always, my dear, dear Hermione. I think, so often, and I dream, even more so, of what I want to do with you. Oh, the things I would do to you. I won't describe in detail, just yet. But soon, in due time, you will be privy to my innermost desires, my dreams, my hopes._

_—L.V_

Vision blurred, chest heaving, Hermione claps a hand to her mouth. She won't scream, she _cannot_ scream, and she won't, she _will not_, be affected in such a way. A few stray tears flow down her cheeks anyway.

Who was this person, or thing? What did they want with her, and why? How long was she going to be intimidated by maliciously sentimental letters? Not before she goes insane.

She texts Ginny, and awaits her response. She had to come over and stay, damn what anyone thought.

* * *

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